Darkest of Winter
by Silver Blazen
Summary: Steve finds himself entering a void of his stolen past when he helps a recovering Bucky Barnes collect shattered pieces of his life. He promises the reformed soldier that he will do everything in his power. Will he be able to face the truths, endure the wounds as he mends his own heart? Will he slip further into his guilt when cracks form in the ice of his friend's soul?
1. Chapter 1

**Darkest of Winter**

**All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

* * *

**{ 1 }**

The Winter Soldier stood in the middle of the shower stall, limp shoulder length dark brown hair drenched with the pulsating beats of warmth. He closed his eyelids, sealing out the light as he breathed in the steam encroaching over his throbbing muscles—blood escaped his soft lips as he pounded his fist against the tile wall, gritting his teeth and fighting against the echoes of ghosts lurking inside the drifts of his memory.

He felt the metal of the gun against his fleshy fingers, the stench of gunpowder and the sounds of screams from his victims—targets of Hydra. He became desensitized weapon —a frozen shell of a man turned into a ghost of winter.

There was a time where he forgot what a kiss felt like—the sound of his mother's voice and the firm grip of friendship. Everything—his existence, name and heart became replaced by the coldness of metal digging into his skin—condemning him to live forever in ice—awakening only to complete missions.

Now, he was on the edge of remembering his old life—"Bucky Barnes," he murmured against the rush of water splashing over his parted lips. "James Buchanan Barnes—A soldier from Brooklyn." He clenched his eyes, tighter-fighting against the trepidation pounding in his skull. "I was some skinny punks friend—-big brother."

He leaned his densely muscled body against the wall, swallowing the water as felt his soaks locks of hair lash over his jaw. "Steve Rogers." he rasped, tears leaked from his eyes. "Someone's friend… My friend."

He snapped open his pale azure blue eyes widened as he gasped out a harsh breath, "I almost killed him—-" He shook his head, allowing the tears to dissolve into the walls of steam over his trembling body. " I almost lost him…:" his voice drifted, anger churned in his veins as he became frozen in a moment of raging and temperate thoughts.

"I saved him… Pull him out and held his life in my…" He narrowed his watery eyes down at his metal arm, clenching the fingers into a fist—"… Hand."

He crashed to his knees, allowing the blood of his wounds to wash down the drain-tears of Bucky Barnes—the soul trapped with the hollow shell of Hydra's greatest weapon created ripples in the blood. "Red," he released a feral growl, sliding his fingers against the ceramic, listening to the screeching of metal pulse in his ears. "It's always the color of red… Nothing will ever change… " He clenched his eyelids shut, "I will just keep on seeing blood, fire and ice—for the rest of my life because it will always burn inside of me."

He shifted his dark blue embers and stared intently at the droplets sliding on the glass, catching the spectrums of amber and crimson—his gaze became haunted by the images of stolen life.

There were a number of emotions waging war in his blue eyes—grief, rage, pain and fear. He was distressed. The monster—the untamed beast who smashed skulls and broke bones with his bare hands was afraid of himself—-programmed to kill without mercy—-without reason. He wasn't a good soldier; he became a weapon—cold and hollow as the ice the birthed out his new existence.

Desperation rippled in his veins. Anguish seared through the dark fabrics of his twisted, marred soul. He reeked of sheer exhaustion, mentally and physically—but his ice-like eyes remained alert and lethally guarded.

"When can I live again?"

He reached for the taps, twisting off the hot water and allowing the cold to pierce his skin. He had become immune to the feeling of ice entering his body—he felt it every day—since he dragged across the snow into Hell.

Turning off the water, he rose up and stepped out of the shower, instantly pulling on a pair of frayed jeans—he leaned against the bathroom sink and twisted the taps.

He drew out a shaky exhale, he was caught in a division of the present and past. The world around him had changed forever; streets were distinctive and even people were different.

He spent his days entrapped in the darkness, shielding himself from the sunlight. His youthful, rugged face had become swathed with a thicker stubble; square jaw line bruised, and overcast circles shrouded his striking steel blue eyes.

Inside, he was an emotional wreck, fighting off the dark angel, they transformed him to become—breaking his silver wings off, diminishing his noble spirit and making him believe that there was only death to harbor. There was no more valor, honor—-freedom.

Just a lot of red on his ledger that kept on running on his knuckles every time he pulled the trigger.

"You're a soldier," he caught his labored voice cutting into the steam of the bathroom. "You're just a face that can easily be forgotten. Your purpose is to kill the enemy—-nothing else."

He stared intently and confused at the ghost in the reflection, studying the details and sharp curvatures of his face; the scars on his torso and coldness in his severe gaze of azure as shadows of malice became entrapped inside his pupils. He was frozen in the moments of seeking for his existence, a captive in a delusion which passed through his densely muscled frame.

Cold water filled the ceramic basin, and the washcloth was stained with blood. He lifted his shaky hand, tracing his fingers over his bristly jaw with a gentle caress. He stared at the dark-brown strands ending at the curve of his chin, and then with a dismal glare welling in his blue eyes, he looked down and hard at his metal cyber tonic arm. He clenched his metal knuckles into a tight fist—feeling no heat just coldness.

He lifted his arm, ready to punch the glass of the mirror—-ready to shatter his reflection into jaded pieces.

His beautiful shaped, fleshy lips altered into a fierce scowl, a growl rose up his throat as he unleashed his aggression and rammed his fist towards the mirror, but then stopped as an item jarred his attention-a chained necklace with two engraved dog tags hanging on a towel hook.

James Buckanan Barnes

Sergeant 32557 T42 43 B

107th Infantry

He clamped his eyes shut, squeezing his lips into his skull, flesh and metal gripped through his wet stands-he parted his lips, voice cracking a familiar number out with an unsteady voice, "32557..." he blared out, his breath wispy and strained. "I am Sergeant 32557-I have a name. NO!" He roared, clenching his fingers into fists as memories recessed from the murky depths of his mind.

_"The procedure has failed a second time." The malicious German voice of __Arnim Zola buzzed like static in his pounding ear drums. The short and stocky doctor stood next to the medical table, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "We must try again. The subject is getting weaker and his mind can only take so much before it allows us to invade." He placed his stubby fingers on the device-a huge metal probe hovered over the sickly captive-Bucky Barnes. The young soldier was strapped down to the table-his ashen skin slacked with layers of fresh sweat, his handsome features ruddy and steel-blue eyes pale._

_"I am Sergeant 32557.." Bucky choked out, tears rolled down his youthful face. "My name is James Buckanan Barnes-My best friend is Steven Grant Rogers."_

_Zola lowered the humming machine down, sharp spikes filled with an unknown substance jabbed in Bucky's neck-the young man jerked and twisted under the straps as his veins seared with liquid. The doctor sneered, staring at the discomfort etched across his captives glistening brow, he gently brushed his fingers over the drenched strands of chestnut-stroke Bucky like a twitching and wounded kitten. For a moment, Bucky laid there in stillness, his pale growing pale and muscles coiled against the jolts erupting in his bones, and then he screamed out anguish cries, tasting metallic slide down his raw throat as Zola performed another injection._

_"Now, let's try this again..." Zola hissed, pulling back the probe. "What is your name, boy?"_

_Bucky jerked his head from side to side, he opened his watery blue eyes, allowing the green haze of light to become entrapped in the darkness of his dilated pupils. He coughed out blood, drops of sweat rolled over his jaw. "__James Buckanan Barnes-"_

_"You've failed to please Hydra, __Sergeant Barnes." Zola dejected with disappointed laced in his voice. He wiped the young man's sweat dotted brow with a cloth. Bucky's lips parted, he let out a low breathy pant. "No matter... We will try again until your mind belongs to me." Zola wrapped his hand around Bucky's neck, squeezing his fingers into a choke hold. "If you disappoint us, we will turn you into a limp vegetable and allow your friends to come and take you home."  
_

_Bucky turned his head away, he spoke in a weak voice that was too strange for him to vocalize."I need to get back home... To Steve... The little, shinny punk-My friend."_

_Zola clenched his teeth, withdrawing a step back, "When I'm finished with the injections, you will not even remember you have a friend named Steven Rogers... You won't know him."_

_"Yes-I will." Bucky snarled out a heavy breath, defiance burning in his blue eyes. ""I will know him."  
_

"I kept the tags with me when the plane went down." A low, palliative and a familiar voice wavered behind him; lulling him back. The Soldier tensed his posture and craned his neck, meeting the wearily cobalt chasms and short golden hair of Steven Rogers. "They never got lost in the ice."

"The serial numbers…" He muttered out in a scarce whisper, blinking his eyes as his head narrowed. "They belong to a good man.." He swallowed, piecing everything together as his voice became distant. "Your friend… Right?"

"One of the best," Steve replied, with a faint smile crossing over his lips.

"Do think…" He was hesitant as he looked at Steve with a firm gaze. "I could have been him…. Your friend?"

Steve cautiously moved closer to him, and grabbed the dog tags and placed them over the Soldier's neck. "You are my friend… Even though you can't remember who you are… That will never change because I know you're James Buchanan Barnes, the tough kid from Brooklyn that never gave up on a punk like me."

"James," He replied with a weak smile, eyes glistening as he fought for the control of his own mind. "I like that name. You can call me by that name."

Steve nodded, smiling with restored warmth breaking over the grimness of his youthful face, "Well, James," he began. "Is there anything you want to do today?"

James narrowed his head, looking at his metal hand. "I want you to show me how to live again… Steve."

"Okay," Steve answered, stepping out of the bathroom, he turned around and stared at the dark locks of hair draped over James's face. "But first, you need a hair cut, James."

"The hair stays, punk." James growled back, slicking his damp strands back.

Steve grinned, knowing that his best friend, his lifelong blood brother of Brooklyn was slowly returning to him.

"Whatever you say, jerk."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

* * *

The next afternoon, Steve leaned the bare muscular planes of his back against the door frame; he had finished his routine morning jog with Sam Wilson and spent most of the later hours of the morning watching over his best friend while reading over new case files from the Avengers Tower. He steadied his cobalt blue embers scanned over the rigid and half unclothed frame of James 'Bucky Barnes' curled underneath layers of sheets; looking indescribably peaceful from the effects of a sleeping agent he managed to inoculate James with after a nightmarish episode.

He advanced closer to the bedside in tentative strides; keeping his eyes latched on Bucky and careful not the create any irking noise of disturbance, staring firmly.

Vibrant chestnut locks of hair cascaded over his defining jaw; and his body half unclothed with a pair of frayed jeans fitting snug around his trim waist. His smooth and slick graven chest gleamed in the tarnished rays of sunlight with a fresh layer of sweat. His head tilted to a side toward his metal shoulder, and his full lips parted slowly as he let out silent and compressed breaths against the cotton pillow case.

A faint and audible whimper of discomfort broke the silence in the room as his bionic metal fingers clenched and unclenched, he gripped the blankets stretched over his body. His brow creased tightly and his fleshed hand lifted up from the pillowcase as he squeezed his knuckles into a rigid, solid fist.

Steve sat in a chair, despondent watching him thrash under the layers of blankets. Was this how he felt every time he closed his eyes? James spent most of the night in self isolation in the darkness of the apartment's bathroom, looking pensive and distraught. James had fallen asleep to the coldness of the ceramic tub penetrating deep into the bare muscular planes of his back, to soothing numbness of ice entering his bones as he soaked his battered frame into the piles of crushed and shaved ice around him.

_{Flashback}_

_After a few hours of soaking in the benumbing ice water; James pressed the bruised and frozen planes of his back against the ceramic wall. His dark chestnut locks brushed over his tensed chin as lingering droplets of water slid down the graven muscles of his bare became deathly still, allowing distant thoughts to clog his tormented mind- -__the cold soothed his rigid and displaced frame as he curled his legs closer to his chest._

_ He felt the tightness merged as he rested his chin on the denim covered knee, staring down at the drops of water on the floor-some dripped in between his toes as he looked at the empty carton of milk his fingers shakily reached for the full carton—his raw throat craved for the nourishing taste to wash out the dryness. "Do I even deserve this?" he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows._

_He closed his eyelids—sealing out the muted shades of orange as he parted his soft, trembling lips and took a sip of the cold milk—the taste felt unnatural to him but his body allowed it to seep down into the pit of his churning stomach._

_Relishing the coldness as it dripped slowly from the corners of his full lips—and trek down his throat. "So good," he growled, his voice dark and strained. "More."_

_He tilted his head back and fiercely gulped down the liters of milk—he dropped the carton on the tile and wiped his metal hand over his moist lips—tongue licked the lingering drops as he contently let out a steady breath of a satisfied stomach as his eyes shut—he looked content—almost like he knew he was shielded by Steve's protection._

_The peaceful state of mind, suddenly became consumed from the dreaded nightmares—flashing images of his victims drowning in their own blood—dark faces of demons wearing oxygen masks and German uniforms marching in the shadowy corridors with their weapons raised. The black smoke rising from smoldering timbers—ashes and charred bodies of misfortune casualties of a never ending purpose to restore and condemn humanity in Hydra's image—the devil's image._

_He snapped his eyes open, blinking and clearing away the tears which fogged over the depth of azure blue—he narrowed his head, long strands lashed over his ashen cheeks. His lips curved at the edges as he mumbled out incoherent words with conviction in his low whisper, "I did terrible things…" He creased his brow, feeling trepidation bury deep into his skull. _

_"I hurt a lot of —-good people. They should of let me die." He clenched his jaw tight, feeling the numbness in his bones. "They should have let me die." he repeated, screwing his eyes shut, trying to go back into the crimson abyss._

_ A fever began to rise in his veins, bile rose from the depths of his throat as guilt clawed his restless frame like a black eagle—leaving marks on his burning and twisting soul, talons scraped behind his eyes, tearing his flesh and digging into the bone—leaving a marred form of a lifeless shell in layers of bloody snow._

_"Buck," the firm and concerned voice of Steve Rogers lulled him to reopen his eyes. James blinked against the onslaught of tears. He felt sick-the bile moved up and down in his throat as he began to taste the sourness of the milk rippling in his stomach acid. "Buck, is everything alright?" _

_He didn't want to answer, instead he cradled his metal arm over his stomach_—_ the tension in his abdominal muscles felt like knife, searing and twisting into his insides. The acid wormed up his throat, writhing and threatening to escape; a punishment, and constricting torture. He already hated it. It was harrowing, invasive and something that his feral instincts fought to ignore._

_"I'm fine." He broke up his lips, growling out with an animalistic tone. He lowered his head and dug his fingers into his thick roots of hair, tugging at the drenched strands as the pulsing tension dissolved. He screwed his eyes shut, blocking off the flow of tears and bared his teeth like a caged animal-lashing out with carnal pitches of snarling and seething breath ragging up his burning vocal cords. "Just leave me alone." he protested out a cold warning, his raging thoughts became turbulent.  
_

_The bathroom door opened, Steve entered flicking on the lights as he met the glowering and menacing blue eyes of his best friend. He crouched onto his knees until he was at the same level of James-he carefully extended out his hand and gripped the dark haired man's trembling shoulder with gentle ease. "It's going to be alright, Buck." he said with an assuring smile brushing over his smooth lips. "I'm going to help you get through this battle, my friend."_

_"Please," James pleaded, feeling the whirling despair sinking deeper into his fractured soul. He released a deep and shaky exhale, pulling the fervid air out of his lungs. 'Please... Leave me alone. I don't want to hurt you." _

_He felt warm tears forming, he involuntarily brought his hands over his eyes as he sobbed. Steve softly removed his hands and looked steadily into the depth of glistening steel-blue. He stared for a long moment. At first, his instincts bubbled in his veins to fight the super-soldier off, and he clenched his jaw hard and made his ravenous eyes glare up at Steve like embers of smoldering blue fire emerging from the shadows. Slowly he eased his grip over the other man's wrist, and he saw the hidden pain and hardened remorse entrapped within the shades of cobalt blue-the eyes of a lifelong friend.  
_

_"You're not going to harm me, Buck." Steve replied with a slight weak sigh. "You're my friend."_

_James curled his metal fingers against the damp denim in his clutch. His defensive, lethal instincts had been consuming his nerves like scorched live-wire. He let out a shallow breath and wrenched his eyes away from Steve's clement face. _

_"I'm not your friend-I'm nothing but a weapon... Cold and dead." He shot back, trying to not allow his tone to betray how all this wasn't what he deserved from another human being and he craved to feel his commanding officer's backhand lash against his face-he became numb and immune to the pain.  
_

_"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes." Steve clarified, with a gentle pitch in his voice. "You are not a weapon... But a good man from the streets of Brooklyn. Do you remember that?"  
_

_James shook his head slowly, making several occurring swallowing noises, as if he was fighting to speak against the vice-like clamping building in his chest_—_but no words came out. _

_Steve lifted a carton of milk and handed it to his friend while staring intently into the blurry azure pools behind the drapes of hair. James refused the milk, scowling his lips into a fierce grimace, but Steve resisted and placed the carton in front of him-his hands started to shake and lips trembled as sickening sweat drained from his pores. "That's not my name," he coughed out, allowing his body to muster up all the strength to gape deeply at Steve. "I don't remember..." He allowed his face to lower into his palms, his voice suddenly became hoarse and torn. "But I want to remember..."  
_

_He wept and slowly lifted his face, he looked at Steve and froze as if he had noticed the wetness streaking down the commanding and chiseled features of Captain America. He gulped down an unsteady breath, and made a timid noise could have been a word, he opened his mouth to speak-his foggy eyes wandered across Steve's face, as though he was trying to focus on the drops of tears, but instead he slacked his lips into a rigid frown and bowed his head.  
_

_"Hey, it's okay." Steve said, smiling as bright as he could manage despite feeling his heart clenching. He wasn't used to seeing the confident, daring and cocking Bucky Barnes diminished into a degrading shell of hollow ice-he gritted his teeth and put on a supportive and brave and comforting semblance even though everything felt unnatural, heart-wrenching and oddly strange._

_Steve reached out, put his large hand over James' metal hand and squeezed, "We're going to take it one day at a time, Buck." He felt the coldness of Hydra's experiment enter through his flesh and bones. James continued to watch, his expression black when Steve moved his fingers across the metal knuckles, his gaze drifted down into a sluggish demeanor._

_James stared intently down at his metal limb, "I feel nothing... Just coldness." He spoke in a distant tone, confused and heavily mixed with delusions. "They did-terrible things to me." He ceased his words, screwing his eyelids shut. "Dragged my body over snow-wounded me and then put me on ice." He scalded at Steve, and then is eyes widen with horror and remorse. "They made me feel dead." he snapped, his words loose, and voice irregular. "I wanted to die_—_"  
_

_Steve froze at his harsh, vehement tone, pausing into a mid sob of distress. He placed his hand steady on the Soldier's shoulder, feeling the muscles coil under his touch-  
_

_*WHAM*_

_Steve found himself thrown onto his back, the back of skull smashed against the tile floor as he felt the breath drain from his lungs from the hard impact. He blinked his eyes and felt the cold, merciless metal feeling wrapped around his throat._

_"You left me to die!" James lashed out with hostile and confused words, he clenched his metal fingers tighter-threatening to crush Steve's windpipe. His breath became erratic and blue eyes intense and fueled by rage. Steve felt his vision swimming as he tried to focus on his friend's face._

_"Buck.. I tried to save you from falling." He rasped through bared teeth. His hands remained latched around the hand on his throat, fighting and pulling the metal off enough to draw out a breath and trying not to ignite a fight between them. He panted out a heaving gulp of air, looking deeply into the tortured eyes of Bucky Barnes, "I'm saving to save you now."_

_"I will kill you_—_ I will finish you." James nearly snarled, narrowing his molten embers of silver at Steve."You're my mission."_

_"And you're my friend." Steve emphasized fiercely managing to regain his strength to hold a fearless poise in the face of hostility. "You know that you are, Buck." He winced slightly, "I know you can remember..."_

_James stared down at him for a long moment with a deteriorating look_—_he fought against the cold fury bubbling in his veins and sharpened his focus-his eyes widened, horrified, and he wrenched his eyes away as tears began to build inside of them. _

_"No-" He snarled, between pants, his gaze locked to Steve's soft blue chasms for all those few seconds of silence before he ripped his hand away. "Are you..."He said, his voice cracking. He settled a unfocused gaze as it filled with a pleading and desperate gleam. "Are you hurt? I didn't mean..."_

_"It's not your fault." Steve spoke gently, feeling his insides being ripped to shreds as he looked into his friend's pain filled eyes. "It's okay... It's going to be okay... I'm going to help you get through this, pal." He removed a sedative he required from Doctor Bruce Banner from the pocket of his jacket and carefully injected the syringed into James's pulsing neck-he watched his friend slowly drift into a peaceful and unconscious state.  
_

_He rubbed away at the bruising from his throat, and wrapped his arms over James' limp frame, lifting his friend up into a fireman's carry and walked out of the bathroom, "You're not fighting this war alone, Buck." he whispered, softly gazing at the lax and youthful features behind the long strands of dark hair. "I'm with you until the end of the line, my friend."  
_

The droning echoes of traffic buzzed in his ears; Steve fluttered his eyes open and allowed his stoic vision to drift over James's stirring frame under the blankets. The Soviet assassin slowly peeled his eyes open, enough for amber crescents of light to shine in the depth of his sleep-haze blue orbs.

"What time is it?" he muttered gruffly, his voice thick and laced with a savory Russian accent. Everything slogged around behind his foggy gaze, he shifted his head against the pillow and stared at Steve, blank and silent. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted in the air, he inhaled the rich scent. "I know that smell..." his voice slurred and cracked."It smells so familiar and yet unknown... What is it?"

"It's coffee," Steve replied, a mellow smile tugged at his lips. "A very popular necessity that a lot of people drink in the morning." his voice trailed as he craned his neck and looked into the direction of the hallway. "If you want I can make you a cup?"

James pressed his lips together, knitting his eyebrows for a moment as exhaustion was written all over his face. He trained his turbulent mind to engage in a sparring of momentary thought and then looked up at Steve; his blue eyes bright and his lips curved into a groggy smirk_—_ the edges slack up and revealed the distinct lines of his jaw.

"I would like that, very much." James answered weakly, he gave Steve a familiar and genuine smile of Bucky Barnes.

"Okay," Steve nodded, rising from the chair. He walked to the doorway and halted in his strides when he heard James's voice mumble out a few words behind him. He turned around and met his friends' content, warm and glittering blue eyes_—_hidden behind the drapes of hair of the Winter's Soldier's menacing and ghostly visage.

"I want you to have this cup of coffee with me, friend." James replied, slurring his words but his smile never urged to melt away.


	3. Chapter 3

**{3}**

* * *

Releasing swallow and compressed breaths, Bucky sat, deathly still in between the narrow crevice of the washer and dryer. His knees were tucked close to his graven chest where he held them in a vice grip, and arms folded tightly over his trembling calves.

The droning hums and warmth of tumbling dryer kept him entrapped in a soothing bubble as he fought against the pounding chaos and influx spikes of adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

He blinked many of times, creasing his forehead as his steady and vacant eyes became darkened by the shadows around him_—_ his chin length strands drenched with sickening sweat as pieces of straggly hair touched the curved corners of his lips.

He didn't know what time of the day it was. But he knew he had been in the small closet space room for hours. He hid from the outside world. He wanted to become hidden from the tender blue chasms of Steve .He blanched away from the light streaming in every corner of the apartment. He became immune to the darkness cloaking over his body, the cold touch of ice encasing over his blood cells, it was glutted as pain and slowly morphed into configurations of torture. It had been the only life, he knew, imprisoned in a coffin of ice and beaten like a wounded animal by his superiors until he succeeded in his missions. It became his existence. It became his method of surviving.

_A sadistic chuckle. It had echoed in his ears ever since he struggled to regain memory. His bare muscular planes of his back pressed and coiled against the cold steel of the chair. His wrists bolted down with metal restraints as he stared with foggy blue eyes at men dressed in white lab coats looming around medical tables; the stench of rust entered his nostrils as he inhaled and exhaled sharply-feeling the dampness creep against his raw throat. He blinked his eyes, his vision swimming in a crimson haze of butchered thoughts-images of lifeless corpses filled with sniper bullets flashed in the murky depth of his fragile mind._

_"Please," he managed to break his lips up, shaky pants of breath ghosted over his mouth as his tongue curled back. "Please... Get me out of this..." He whimpered his pleas of anguish became too great for him to vocalize. He locked his glistening eyes at the lights hanging above as his body hastened against the coldness searing deep into his bones-everything around him became a constant pulse of torture as he bit hard on his bottom lip-swallowing thickly as his muscles constrict to the deafened sounds of machines humming to life._

_"Tell me what you remember, Soldier?" a cryptic, German accent chimes in the shadows, as stubby fingers curled around a leather strap, holding on tight in a threatening clutch. "Answer the question..."_

_"I remember a moving train..." He replied in a weak voice, losing his thought for a moment, the trepidation of torrent memories build in his skull, as he furrowed his brow. The look in his blue eyes gleaming with desperation and he parted his lips, feeling his throat clenched around a massive, constricting lump. He grazed his upper teeth over the plump flesh of his bottom lip as his vacant stare became distant. "There was a man screaming out someone's name..." He swallows, catching the dark brown eyes of his superior as a glistening haze of water was built in his shadowy eyes._

_"The memories that your mind conceived belonged to someone else... They belonged to the man who died when he fall off the train. All that we found of him was his remains floating in the river of ice." The man in the traces of darkness replied with a cold tone in his gruff voice. "He wasn't important, just another blood stain for Hydra to wipe away."_

_"What about the other man... The one I saw calling out his friend's name?" Bucky asked, his expression deteriorating against the shadows cloaking over him. "What happened to him?"_

_"The man died in a plane crash... His corpse was never recovered."_

_"I knew him," he said, his voice in a low pitch. "I knew that man-He was my_—"__

_His voice faded to silence. He can't muster up the words as a needle slowly punctured his ashen skin. He turned his head slightly, looking at the syringe drain the substance in the thick vein of his forearm, he stared blankly for a second, and then he narrowed his eyes down blinking away the tears pricking under his lips. He unsealed his lips and released a silent and compressed breath. Darkness became entrapped in the glistening pools of azure blue as he knitted his eyebrows tightly, crinkling the skin._

_"Soldier..."The man's tone became malicious as he walked closer to the chair and touched his captive-his asset's jaw with a cold hand, squeezing pressure over Bucky's jugular. «The man is a corpse. He's dead and long gone. You need to regain your focus on the mission... Unless you want to feel the pain again..." He scowled a lethal scowl at Bucky, his dark merciless narrowed at the young man's smooth and graven chest. "Do you remember what happened last time you fought to remember?" he growled, rubbing the leather strap over Bucky's chin._

_Bucky swallowed hard. He knew he was going to feel the pain-the lashes of leather dug into his skin. "Yes"_—"_ He managed to choke out, his timid expression darkening further and his blue eyes became onyx. The straggly locks of his sweat drenched hair fell over his cheekbones-making him appear wraith like and menacing His demon watched him transform into his an obedient dog-blanching further into the chair as the strap became a fraction away from his face._

_"I'm sorry I didn't hear you say it clearly," The man slapped the leather against Bucky's jaw_—_ watching with changeless, soulless brown eyes as the young soldier's head jerked to the side. "You'll have to repeat it for me, worthless mutt."_

_Bucky clamped his eyes shut, blood leaked from the corner of his mouth as everything around him morphed into twisted shapes, he instinctively jolted, gritting his teeth as another lash numbed the right side of his face-unleashing a thin line of scarlet over his ashen flesh as it trickled over his jaw and down his neck. His chest tensed as blood dripped over the carved muscle and slowly made its way down his abdomen._

_"Everything your mind creates is just glimpses of another man's past_—T_hey're ghosts... You need to rake them away."_

_"The man... I knew him." He cried hoarsely in the thralls of unbearable pain as he felt his soul being ripped out him the moment the leather whipped over his bruised and bloody cheek, he unleashed raw screams of torture and shook his whole body as his head hung down and blood spilled from his mouth. His strength was failing him, voice betraying him as he released heart wrenching cries. "You kill him... You took him away from me...He was my friend... My friend."_

_Bucky screwed his eyes shut against the shrills of agonizing pain, smoldering tears stung as he gathered clear images of a blond haired man hanging off the side of a speeding train. The young man was dressed in the colors of the American flag, red, white and blue and his cut-stone features were tensed and slick with dread and desperation as he held out a leather gloved hand reaching to reach for something... Someone._

_"You have no friends," the man's voice became laced with anger; he withdrew a step back and stared down at Bucky with a hollow and inhuman gaze. "No one is going to come here and save you."_

_Bucky felt his lips quivering as the taste of copper seeped down his throat, pain in the form of tears leaked out of his eyes and run aggressively down his battered face. The man's hands latched over his face, thumbs pressed into his jaw bone as he reluctantly opened his mouth and released out erratic pants of air as the cold mouth guard slid against his tongue-almost choking him as his tongue tried to fight against the force of the rubber._

_"Bite down."_

_He obeyed the order and bit down on the mouth guard and writhed against the icy touch of hands pushing his back against the chair, his mournful cries became muffled by the piece of rubber he was biting into. He lifted his teary eyes up and stared at the dimming lights. He growled with defiance shining in his eyes, trying to break free from the restraints as more pain attacked him._

_"He was my friend..." He unleashed choking sobs as he froze; muscles became rigid as he felt the pulses of the electric probes slowly hover over his temples. He flinched involuntarily as the pulses dug into his skull-like fingernails digging further into the bone. His body ached as he literally felt his mind slipping into a desolation of emptiness-each memory vanished into a carving hole searing deep into his fractured heart. The familiar, gentle turquoise colored eyes became like knives piercing through the unraveling fabrics of his soul. He became aware of the laughter echoing in his ears as the voltage of the probes grew increase and the face of a friend became a shadow fading into the dark crevices of stolen memory._

_Bucky thrashed against the chair, his blue eyes livid and glossed with tears as droplets of blood rolled over his gleaming chest-sliding into the grooves of tarnished muscle as he tried to focus on the obscurity around him as everything became blurry and darkened by the layers of his excruciating pained tears, the pain raged through his brain-ripping his existence apart. Everything became frozen in his system, nerves became numb and bones encased in ice as he slowly fell into the breakage point of delirium._

_"Do you remember anything now?" the sordid voice beckoned him to shift his eyes; he choked on his own blood and fiercely shook his head. Bucky dropped eyes down stared at his metal fingers with an emotionless gaze, he fought to stay silent, his body absorbed all the tortuous pain as he fastened his eyes shut and allowed it to flow through him. He felt his heart thump wildly against the walls of his rib cage-pounding a name as he cracked his lips open and cried out in an animalistic howl._

_"Steve..."_

He snapped his watery blue eyes open, feeling the warm lines of tears streak over his cheeks, his chest was rising and falling and heaving out heavy gulps of air as he cradled his arms over the exhausted muscles reeking with feverish sweat. He looked around the small room, wide-eyed, left to right and curled himself against the wall-the coldness of steel from the washing machine penetrating through his skin as he blinked frantically and eased his churning stomach as a gentle stroke of his fingers over the tensed layers of compacted muscle.

Feeling the soothing coldness enter his quaking body, Bucky rested his chin fully on his knee cap as his drenched hair concealed his luminous pools of blue and his lips moved wordlessly as he cried out in languish for a friend-a ghost entrapped in the folds of his abashed memory conceived with each tear that escaped his haunted and soggy eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**{4}**

* * *

The heart of Manhattan was a maze of dingy amber light and evening rain, Steve leaned his soaked back against the cement ledge, feeling the rough surface dig into the grooves of his tensed shoulder blades. He looked like a statuesque of a Greek deity in the caress of muted orange light, shadows sculpted over his sharp cheekbones and his chiseled jaw line; he felt the warm drops of the summer rain cascade steady down his angular face.

His graven muscles stuck tightly against the fabric of his white shirt-revealing the carved definition of his firm pectorals and compacted abdomen. His dark denim jeans constricted around his trim waistline as the rain seeped over his concealed skin. He didn't care.

His strong heart pounded against his rib cage, emitting the familiar dull ache-reminding him that he was alive, that he wasn't indestructible. He had weakness hidden beyond the steel layers of the determination super-soldier. He bled like all men did, carried faults and regrets and even felt sometimes displaced of the world around him. The trepidation of his guilt and remorse became as cold as winter's ice as his mind became consumed by the images and the deafening screams of Bucky falling off Zola's train.

Steve blamed himself countless of times, condemning his wounded heart for not trying harder to grip his best friend's blood stained hand or allow Bucky to latch onto the railing he was hanging onto_—_ he would have gladly taken his friend's fall and allow his body to sink into the rivers of ice. He knew if he saved Bucky in that heart wrenching moment when the cold snow prick his skin and when it felt like his heart thudded to a halt in his chest, he would have died and become reborn as the Winter Soldier-as a ruthless bully and mindless killer.

He lowered his chin against his chest, clenching his jaw and blocked everything out as the icy despair seared further into the fabrics of his torn soul.

He seethed out a frustrated breath against his clamped teeth as he focused on surviving another day without saying staring into the warm blue of eyes of his lifelong friend and surrogate brother_—_ without saying the words that wanted to escape from the abyss welling inside of him.

He felt defeated as those feelings surging inside of him made him become weak with illness that stirred in his vein. He had always known himself carry the strength, the burdens and the dreams of everyone he cherished, but now he was searching through the murky void-allowing echoes of his past to find him in those moments he thought he finally grasped the freedom that could break through the veils of his inward turmoil.

Instantly out of bitter rage, he rammed his fist into the cement, bruising the raw skin of his knuckles, with an audible smack; he gritted his teeth into tight pained grimace on his strained and flourished chiseled features. He screwed his eyelids into tight slits of anguish and became haunted by the faces of his Howling Commandos, Howard Stark and the naturally beautiful woman with bright scarlet lips he promised to dance with at a small bar in Brooklyn, Peggy Carter.

All of them were just ghosts that emerged from the recesses of his memory when the dreaded nightmares that Hydra unleashed imprisoned him in the darkness of torment.

He wasn't living this new life alone anymore; he had Sam Wilson, Natasha, Sharon and Bucky. He was Captain America, the first Avenger the man who Agent Phil Coulson believed in even when he took his last breath as the sharp weapon Loki wielded pierced through his chest.

He kept those paper cards with the lingering smudges of blood tucked in a compartment of his uniform he wear during his missions with the Avengers.

Yes, he still felt empty and useless at sometimes; however, he became a stronger leader and give the orders to a Norse thunder-god, a lethal assassin, an efficient marksman, a billionaire playboy who wore metal armor and a big green monster. He vowed as he fought with them on the battle zone of New York that he would always protect his friends with his shield and own life, just like he protected the Howling Commandos against the German armed forces.

Peeling his eyes open, Steve became acutely transfixed by the city lights as his vivid, powerful and alert cobalt-blue eyes stared at the shadows below the roof of his apartment complex. He sensed a familiar hidden danger in the shadows and felt his muscles coil with anticipation as he trained his intense gaze, becoming extremely aware of his surroundings, and set his jaw down hard while his pulsed steadied. He heard the stairwell door open; involuntary he looked over his broad shoulder and peered directly at the sight of the ghostly presence Bucky standing in the dim the light of the stairs. The rogue and brutalized assassin loomed stealthily in the shadows, hesitant and despondent.

"I'm sorry-I didn't mean-" Bucky apologized in a disquieted tone as he carefully meandered through the clusters of shadows, keeping himself distant and guarded. He stuffed his metal hand in a pocket of his jeans and withdrew a step back. He gazed at Steve with a mixture of confusion and utter sorrow masking over his steel-azure chasms underneath drapes of long soggy, messy tresses of dark chestnut which swathed over his thick jaw. His slender and rigid frame was dressed in a severe black hooded sweater and frayed jeans, trying to hide his bionic arm from the light downpour.

'"It's alright, Buck." Steve replied in a serene voice, beckoning his friend to advance closer. Bucky's emotionless, lost blue eyes trailed over the sleek cement as Steve turned fully around and gestured with a wave of his hand for Bucky to move closer. He inwardly grimaced, fighting his rage that coursed through his system as he stared at his once defiant and charming friend become a captive in a pitiful and broken shell of a man. Bucky remained frozen, his head narrowed and expression vacant. "It's safe up here, pal."

"No one is safe." Bucky shot back with an edge of his carnal nature clouding over his ashen features. "We're all targets." He blanched a step back, fastening his lips into a firm grimace as he kept his feral, deadly calculating blue eyes locked on the edge of the roof. "Why do you come up here?" he questioned, with a hint of spit ragging up his throat. "It's a vantage point for enemy fire."

"I'm not afraid of what's out there, Buck." Steve spoke evenly; his deep blue eyes gleamed with unbreakable defiance. He sighed out an abysmal breath, "After what we've been through, I think we're both victims of truth the government tries to conceal by making people believe that freedom is a reward once we've beaten the game of risk."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows into a tight crease, "Do you believe in freedom?" he asked simply, allowing his luminous blue eyes to drift back at Steve. "Is that what you fight for, man on the bridge?" he asked with a distant voice-searching for the truth welled in the tall, blonde- haired super-soldier's burning eyes.

"I don't know what to believe in anymore." Steve heaved out an audible whisper and lowered his head down, feeling his chest swell sharply but his eyes never left the ground. He sealed his smooth lips into a fastened line, tasting the rain trickle over the corners of his mouth, as he drew out a dismal sigh emitting from deep within the walls of his throbbing chest. "Everything always seems to get taken away from me."

"Did you lose a lot of people close to you?" Bucky asked, staring at Steve with his chilling blue eyes underneath strands of drenched hair. His youthful face was impassive as he broke his lips open showing the distinctive line Steve knew all too well at the corner of his fixed mouth. "Did you know them for a long time?"

Hearing those hollow words echo through the drizzle of rain, Steve felt a sting penetrate inside his chest as he face suddenly became crestfallen. He felt the edges of his lips threaten to alter into a disheartened frown. The pieces of an empty life became interwoven inside his gut as he met his friend's glinting eyes in the darkness. He tightened his hand into fists, holding them steady at his sides.

"I knew one of them all my life," he revealed, trying to fight against the tears pricking in his sullen eyes. "I failed to save him." He shifted with uneasy balance an allowed the rain to wash away his pain. "I was so close and determined to save him from falling off the train but in that second when I almost gripped his hand with mine -I heard and watched him screamed and fall into the whiteness below the bridge."

"The bridge?" Bucky rasped out darkly, he closed his eyes slightly into slits, looking directly at Steve as tiny squares of light became entrapped in the deepness of his black pupils.

His breath started to grew erratic as his twitched and tightened, he struggled to speak for a long moment. He became unbalance in his footing. He had memory. He had some recollection. It was something that was buried deep within the darkness of Hydra's tortures.

"I remember a man on the bridge..." He tried to unlock his voice. "He called out the same name that you call me-Bucky?" He breathed out, his strained baritone cracking against his throat. "Bucky?"

As he approached closer, Steve paced himself with tentative strides. Closer and silent, he realized his friend's whole body was shivering the barest hint of torment. He slowly extended out a hand, but Bucky recoiled back and shot him up a murderous glower and withdrew a step back. "I'm not going to hurt you, Buck."

"Stay back," Bucky growled out, his eyes shot up blazing a warning, as he spoke in harsh Russian. He bared his teeth at Steve as he instantly went into his Winter Soldier mode. He lifted his metal hand, making Steve halt in his strides. "Stay back...I don't-I don't want to hurt you." he snarled, his voice grinding up his throat. "I know you're a good man...I don't want to give more pain."

"You're not going to hurt you, Buck." Steve replied in a soft tone, showing his unyielding hands. "You know me..." He gritted his teeth hard. "I know that you are trying to remember me."

"It hurts," Bucky lashed out, clenching his teeth like a feral and threatened animal. The throb of panic twisted in his veins as he unleashed a tortured whisper. It was inhumane, butchered and haunting. He wrapped his arms over his heaving chest and shook his head, sloshing his hair against his pale cheekbones. "Too much pain.."

"What hurts? Your arm? The memory?" Steve asked. He cautiously reached out his hand and eased his fingers over Bucky's shoulder. The assassin hissed and grabbed his wrist digging his metal digits into rain soaked flesh. He winced slightly as he stared deeply into the blue embers of rage mirroring his watery gaze. "Let go, Buck." he commanded when Bucky squeezed his wrist harder. "Bucky, let go of my arm."

"I gave you a warning not to touch me," Bucky snarled viciously, his breath heaving, growling with a dangerous glint in his darkened eyes. He pulled himself closer, until his menacing face shadowed and blocked out the shafts of light from Steve's gaze. "Why did you make the move?"

Steve pried his arm away, "I did because you're my friend." he choked out, sucking in a breath as wetness streaked over his cut-stone features. "You are the man who fell off the train-you are Bucky Barnes."

"No, I'm not." Bucky bellowed, threatening to break Steve's wrist. He unleashed a cry of anguish, his fingers scabbing over the bruising skin. "Stop calling me that damned name."

Steve shook his head in sharp, minute motion. "I can't." he to his friend growl in frustration. "Not when I know the truth."

"He's dead." Bucky screamed out with an ear shattering pitch, clenching his heavy jaw line. "Bucky Barnes is dead."

"No," Steve managed to growl out, he touched the center of Bucky's chest. "He's alive in here."

Feeling the pressure of Steve's finger dig into his pectorals, Bucky parted his lips showing his upper teeth, the wind twirled the strands of his hair across his brow as he looked at Steve with a teary and haunted gaze.

He tore his eyes away and loosen his grip from first Avenger's wrist. His thoughts froze in that instant when he locked his damaged gaze on Steve's face. "I know you.." he sobbed, clasping his lips into a tight line, shaking his head as tears rolled over the indents of his cheekbones. "I want to say your name, but I can't..." he swallowed, as his savage nature melted into his bones. "I can't remember your name."

Steve faintly smiled, "It's Steve Rogers."

"Steve," Bucky curved his full lips into tiny smirk as he repeated the name again. staring up at his best friend with tear filled and lightened blue eyes. "Steve."

Steve nodded.

"You were the man on the bridge," he said, feeling his lips tremble as he touched Steve's drenched shoulder. "You're my friend..." He lowered his head and started to weep out pained tears, but Steve enclosed his arms around him, holding him tightly against his torso. Bucky buried his face into his warm, soaked chest. He stroked his jaw line against the firm muscle underneath the shirt as the tears evaporated from the welcoming heat.

For the first time, he felt safe. "Steve."


	5. Chapter 5

**{5}**

* * *

_"Please," Bucky choked out a strangled plea, his breath fading as the arm of his aggressor locked against his throat. His head bashed over the cement wall, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He inhaled the strong aftershave; it burned in his nostrils, teeth gritted and sloppy strands of his hair whipped over his glistening blue eyes. He struggled against the weight crushing his bare chest, muscles tensed and heart became erratic. He tried lifting his metal alloy arm, clenching his hand into a fist but Brock Rumlow clasped his leather encased hand around his wrist and pinned it against the grim of stone._

_The metal plates hissed and contorted as he pushed his body away from the wall, but the ruthless operative pressed harder, sneering as he relished the sight of tears streaking over Bucky's bristled jaw and listened to the younger man seethed out his ragged protests. "Please I did everything I was ordered to carry out." he screamed, his chin pointing up and lips trembling as blood trickled down the walls of his throat. "I followed the commands."_

_"I'm here to make sure you don't try to break free from us, dog." Rumlow shot back, his dark brown eyes livid with carnal flame. He pulled his face closer to Bucky, his nose nearly touching the soldier's dimmed chin. "That's right, you are a mutt. A worthless stray that we found in the snow maiming his own paw off. You are nothing to me-if you ever go against your orders. I will personally throw you in that ice box and leave you to rot forever." He moved his arm away, and like a striking cobra, coiled his fingers around Bucky's neck, squeezing pressure over his pulsing jugular. "Do make myself clear?" he growled, flashing his eyes dangerous at the watery line of blood trailing down the other man's grave chest._

_A whine ripped from Bucky's throat. "Yes," he gasped for a heavy gulp of air. "I will follow..." He seethed, gnashing and clamping his teeth. He opened his pale azure eyes, a haze of tears blinded his vision, skull pounded and pulse elevated. He wrenched his head back, hair shrouded over his eyes and he stared directly at Rumlock removed a leather choke collar from a pouch of his severe black armored vest. His whole shivered as the collar became locked over his neck like a bad pet. "No," he hissed. "Don't do this to me." Rumlow's fingers squeezed tighter, and Bucky jerked against the thralls of pain rippling through his veins. "I will follow orders. I will kill all targets, for HYDRA."_

_Dissatisfied with the answer, Rumlock yanked the long strands of his hair and pulled Bucky's head down. He rammed his armored knee into the young man's jaw, sneering as a yelp of pain escaped from Bucky's lips. He removed his knife and sliced a piece of hair, watching it fell to the floor with merciless, cold gaze. "I don't know if I should give you more punishment." He spoke with a firm voice. "The director won't be pleased it he discovered his favored pet decided to disobey a simple order of terminating a family. You're losing your edge. "You're growing soft." His voice crackled with displeasure. Bucky never moved, just stood there complaint, his blue eyes were dormant to the floor. "Let's hear you say those words that branded in your mind. Come on." He lashed out with rage, jostling Bucky's body with a violent choke hold._

_Bucky parted his bruised lips and he released a pint of blood before answering, "Hail HYDRA!" he screamed, heart wrenching in his chest. He was becoming baleful and unhinged. He licked his bottom when Rumlow withdrew a step back. His teeth bared into a carnal scowl and he shook violently like rabid dog, slashing his hands in the air, his crystal blue eyes morphed into vicious dark, untamed gaze underneath matted locks of hair touching his jaw. His bones cracked and chest heaved out a heavy breath as he watched Rumlock cross his broad muscular arms over his vest with a pleased smirk crossed over his tanned face. "Hail HYDRA!"_

_Moving away from the programmed soldier, Rumlow shifted his dark eyes and nodded at a figure standing in the darkness of the hall. He listened to Bucky choke out a sob, and then placed his hand on the asset's shoulder, pinching the flesh and grinding the bones together. "Go in your little cage and wait for your master to give your orders."_

_Reacting to those spiteful words, Bucky's blue eyes became dead, his face stripped from emotion and half-naked body tensed. He shoved his fist into Rumlow's chest, and with methodical steps, he wiped the dark maroon off his face and vanished into the darkness._

* * *

Bucky snapped his luminous blue eyes open, smoldering tears blurred his vision. He body was drenched with feverish heat, he tasted salt drip over his lips and his heart thudded, rattling the bones of his rib cage. His body trembled, and he was drenched in cold sweat and the images of his torture burned in his mind, flashing every time he blinked. He struggled to breathe, lungs throbbed and throat locked, but he managed to force air down his throat a big gulp.

Growling out his frustration, his metal fingers ripped off the bottom sheet from the mattress as he frantically scanned his eyes over the thick darkness. He couldn't remember we he was or why were blankets with a soothing scent embraced over his hot mess of a body. All he saw was a shaft of light coming from the bedroom's doorway. He tried to erase the lurking, painful, memories and steadied his breath into regular exhales, slowing down his rapid heart rate. When felt like he gained control of himself, he wiped the dots of sweat off his brow with his shaky metal hand and tried to ignore the lingering dread creeping over his bones. He'd spent so many nights in the darkness, feeling pulses of orders consume his mind and allowing the endless abuse of his superiors to diminish his soul into an obedient pet.

When he tried to close his eyes images of strange faces invaded his mind, empty shell casing and puddles of blood. "No!" he screamed, his voice damaged with pain. He thrashed and scrabbled for the pillow to throw over his head. "Please, get out of my head." he sobbed, gritting his teeth. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" He screwed his eyelids shut and tried to sink back into the abyss. Tears rolled over the chiseled lines of his cheeks, slowly leaving wetness down his throat. Pain filled his head, pounding and pounding as his heart became strained and shattered into pieces. He didn't want to open his eyes or move from the folds of covers wrapped over his body. He was afraid to stare into the darkness, to find the demons again luring him back into the fiery depth of HYDRA's control.

He fought against the buzzing and screeching of mindless delirium. He fought to break the chains welded against his soul. He was tired of everything being taken away from him. He was tired of barley making it through a night without the vivid images gripping him back into the operating chair. He was tired of feeling displaced in a world of black and red and allowing the words of HYDRA to pour into his veins. Making the pillow away from his eyes, he blinked out the stabbing pain and stared at the splotches of light gathering on the floor. He lifted his hand into the air, reaching for the warmth breaking through the thick and suffocating darkness burying him. «Steve," he whispered, tasting the salty tears and the rust clogging his throat. His tongue was dry and lips scraped from his teeth dug into the soft flesh. "Please help me."

Bucky sealed his eyes tight, feeling a warm hand touched his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. It felt so good in the mists of torment that he sighed. "Easy, Buck." whispered a gentle and soothing masculine voice that lulled him out of the void. "I'm right here for you, pal."

He slowly peeled his eyelids open, streaks of water fell steadily over his sharp, broad cheekbones. He blinked and stared up as the blurs of shapes resolved into furniture of a bedroom He swallowed thickly and drained the lingering wetness out of his bloodshot azure eyes. His grip loosened on the sheet as he turned his neck and glanced at Steve towering over him. "Steve?" he whispered, curving the corners of his lips into a bright and content smile that stretched over his youthful, ashen face. "Steve," he repeated grasping his friend's arm and looking into the deep cobalt eyes staring down at him. "You came back for me."

"Yeah, Buck," Steve nodded, mirroring his smile with tears making his blue eyes glisten. He slowly eased Bucky off the mattress, his hand secured protectively over his friend's back. "You okay?" he asked in a breathless voice, his eyes scanning over the layers of feverish sweat gleaming over Bucky's sculpted chest; he padded his hand over the other man's cheek.

"Steve," Bucky gasped a sob and reached for Steve, desperately burying his face against firm muscle underneath material of a white shirt. He allowed the tears to flow and muttered against the rise and fall of his friend's chest. "I've done so many bad things." He cried out his anguish, gripping Steve's shirt into a fist. "I killed so many good people. I'm a monster."

"No, Bucky," Steve threaded his fingers through sweat-drenched strands of matted chestnut. "They made do those things. You were under they're control. It doesn't matter now, you're back and where you're supposed to be, pal."

"I'm sorry," Bucky expelled against the invasive pain, clinging onto Steve and feeling the shirt become wet under his cheek. "I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just following orders." he said weakly. "I was a damn fool for allowing them to turn me into a monster." he snarled, gnashing his teeth. He felt a huge gaping void starting to build in his chest. "A damn fool!" he looked at Steve emptily, trying to restrain the sudden burst of rage that brimmed against the surface of his heart.

Steve narrowed his placating eyes. «Don't beat yourself up, Buck. They are the monsters. Not you." he clasped his lips shut for a moment. "You were just a victim that Zola butchered. I know that you are strong. You've always been strong and you also have a big heart. And that's something HYDRA never succeed to take from you." he grounded out in a hoarse voice, tears beginning to form in his own eyes. "I should have searched for you."

Bucky shook his head in denial. "No! NO! It wasn't your fault! You tried to save me. I remembered seeing your hand trying to grasp mine. It wasn't your damn fault. I know you tried. But I fell. Into the harsh cold. When I woke up there was nothing left of me to save." He lowered his eyes down at his full metal arm, staring at the Russian star emblazoned on polished alloy plates. "This is what came out of the ice. A reward from the devil." A bitter smile crept over his lips. "My work...my gift to mankind..." Alexander's Pierce's hand words replayed in the back of his mind. "This is my existence."

Steve shook his head in disdain. "No, you are Bucky Barnes." He placed his hand flat on the metal arm, covering the red star. "Every day I will keep on reminding you that, pal."

Bucky fell silent, his blue eyes blank as crescents of light struck his pupils. He was starting to remember more details of the past, collecting names, faces and images of different cities. Everything was slowly emerging out of the crimson haze. He was becoming vaguely aware for who he was underneath the frozen and brutalized layers of the Winter Soldier.

Wordlessly, Bucky allowed his head rested against Rogers' shoulder "Steve." A choke sob emitted from his throat and he rubbed his lips over the shirt. "I missed you, so much." He cried as the cold and detached voice of the lethal HYDRA soviet assassin melted with a single heart beat of his best friend against his chest. He spoke with the voice of the man Steve feared to be lost forever. He was slowly becoming real Bucky again. "I missed you, but things cannot be the same as they were. No matter how much I will remember. I will never be the same kid from Brooklyn."

Steve felt like a knife pierced his heart when those words touched his ears; he drew out a steady exhale. "I know that, Bucky. I have a touch of optimism left in me, but I also believe in realism too. But let's forget the past now and focus on restoring what have now."

Bucky pulled away from the super-soldier, rubbing the wetness out of his eyes. "Okay, Steve. I can do that." he said, with a half-smile tugging on his lips.

"Okay," Steve gave him a curt of a nod and pulled a chair closer to the bed. Bucky curled his legs close to his chest and rested his chin on soft material covering his knee. "Do you want to talk about something? It can be anything you want?"

Bucky lifted his head, gazing at Steve with his steel-blue puppy dog eyes underneath tresses of dark hair. "Tell me about what happened after I fell off of the train? Did you win?" he asked in a soft, raspy voice.

Steve nodded grimly, looking in the eyes of his best friend."Yeah, I did but at a price."

Extending his metal hand, Bucky touched his friend's shoulder gently and he listened silently as fresh tears welled in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**{6)**

* * *

The smell of car exhaust hung thick in the humid air. Bucky sat rigid against the chair. He tried to lounge around causally outside of Starbucks located a few blocks from Steve's apartment building. He stared down at the table scattered with empty clear plastic cups and a brown bag of pecan glazed treat that he was he still working on. It had been days since he allowed his intimating presence to roam through the bustling streets of Manhattan. He spent too much of his time trapped in the darkness and away from the changed world around him. He felt like an outsider.

Across from the reformed asset, Steve sat with his legs neatly tucked away behind the chair; he wore a dark brown leather jacket, a plain white shirt and dark blue jeans. His golden locks were groomed back with coating of gel, and his inquisitive turquoise eyes narrowed as he sketch in his art book silently, with his perfect pink lips fastened into a neutral line of concentration.

Irked, Bucky absently sat still, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table to interrupt the annoying sounds of endless traffic whizzing past the coffee shop. He wasn't used to the daily morning routines of an average New Yorker. It was strange, unfamiliar, and irritable as he forced himself to watch a dozen yellow taxi cabs clutter the main street. The straits of sirens tore through the summer breeze condensed with a he ear numbing sounds of tire screeching on the concrete, children whining to their parents, and numbing sound of a NYPD patrol helicopter thumping ahead the labyrinth of chaos. He stiffened against the chair, gripping the denim of his jeans, and screw his eyelids shut. He was starting to develop a headache, as a result the amount of lightly sweetened coffee he consumed, and the sugar rush of his indulgence of pastries.

He lowered his head down, and rested his sweat-slacken forehead on the table, and he groaned faintly under his breath. "Why does my head hurt?" he growled, clenching his jaw. Steve paused his drawing, and settled his sketch book down in front of him. His light cobalt eyes latched over his best friend protesting with muffled words. "Coffee never used to be this harsh. Well, at least that's what I remember from the old days." he moaned, with a grimace tightening over his full lips, and numbly swayed his head back and forth.

"Coffee has changed, Buck. People don't boil it in a pot on the stove. They go to these places and order express. You can get any flavor you want." he emphasized, and brought his fixed gaze down at an empty cup. He curled the edges of his lips into an amused witless smirk; he couldn't keep a straight face. "What you're experiencing is a sugar rush. It will pass in a few hours."

"I assume your body is used to consuming heavy intakes of caffeine?" Bucky murmured, lifting his head. Dark curtains of mahogany fell streamed over the lines of discomfort etched over his youthful face as he drawled out dazed words, and momentarily sealed his eyes shut. "Is there anything you can give me to help the pain go away?" he huffed out his frustration, and slouched miserably in the chair. He roved his gaze at the book and asked, "What are you drawing?"

"Nothin," Steve sheepishly grinned placing the pencil down, and laying his full attention on Bucky as he stared at azure eyes underneath tresses of disheveled hair. He sighed, and dropped his gaze down feeling his heart slow against his chest. "I try to restore memories...things that I've lost from the past. Everything has changed around me, Buck. It seems that the world has gotten darker."

Bucky shook his head, and he looked directly at his friend, and watched Steve's face contort into expression of anguish. "Hey," he stretched out his hand, and brushed his metal fingers over Steve's knuckles. "You've got me." he whispered sharply to Steve, trying to conceal the tears glistening in his soulless blue eyes, and furrowed his brows, and released a deep exhale. "You saved me, Steve."

"I failed you, Buck." Steve murmured quietly. "I was so close..." he reminded himself, struggling to swallow as his tongue grew thick in his mouth. «When you fall off the train...I thought you died."

He tortured himself with the soul tantalizing memory, letting images loop inside his mind, the screams replayed like a broken record, over and over again. He could distinctly remembered painfully staring down at his friend's face as he fell, the horror, fear and sadness before he was swallowed by the snowy abyss of the canyon down below. Everything happened like a blink of eye. He remembered hearing Bucky cries elevate out of the wispy spirals of snow, and he how much his heart ached for days.

Steve slammed his eyes shut and allowed a sickening memory to emerge from the recesses of his mind, his stomach knotted and twisted as vivid fragments made him relive a piece of his life.

* * *

**{Flashback}**

* * *

He sat in the murky darkness of an abandon farm house against the infirmary, his blue eyes became filled with tears, and he intently stared at the empty shot glass clutched in his hand. He felt no effects of the aged scotch he raided from the cellar lacing in his veins-but he was still numb from the pain that carried in his veins.

The stars and stripes suddenly felt tighter against the heaviness of his rippling chest pectorals. He felt torn between the division of liberty and defiance. A dull ache in his rib cage reminded him of what he has lost in a short time. For hours after reading the report, he allows himself to become a prison of regret, his warm tears of unleashed pain becomes like knives etching in the chiseled skin of his face.

He refused to let go of his best friend. He refused to carry on the mission until the end of the line. He needed Bucky Barnes at his side, marching with him across enemy lines with the Howling Commandos assembling in the shadows of the frozen pine trees with elongated branches encased in his unforgiving ice. He needed to hear Bucky's cocky Brooklyn accent raise him back to high spirits again. He didn't want to believe that death finally claimed the only good thing he had back in Brooklyn. His home.

_"No!" he screamed, breath exploded in his lungs. "Bucky...No!"_

_Steve felt his heart cease to beat in those shattering moments; blood strained his hand-blood of his best friend's existence. He clenched his eyelids shut-sealing the away the tears of anguish as he listened to Bucky fall forever in the white abyss of snow._

He rose from the wooden chair and felt the dull ache of wrenching despair creep deep into his bones-searing further into the fabrics of his torn soul. Instantly out of rage, he rammed his fist into the table, bruising his knuckles, with an audible smack; he gritted his teeth into tight pained grimace on his strained and flourished chiseled features.

"It should have been me." He seethed out, punching the table vigorously as his brow glistened with beads of anguished sweat which encased over the scowl lines of his forehead. "It should of been me...Not him...I didn't deserve the shield. He was my friend...My best friend."

Steve growled fiercely, punching the wood until he created indents with his shaking fist. His groomed, dark golden locks draped over his burning, livid blue embers of remorseful fire narrowed, and he stared intently at the helmet of Captain America. He threw the helmet to the floor and crashed to his knees, shaking in uncontrollable rage as crippling grief consumed his veins and tore him apart. He clamped his eyes shut, panting wildly, and lowered his face and allowed the tears to fall and streak over his cheeks.

"Buck...I'm sorry." He sobbed in a disheartened Brooklyn accent, pounding his fists into the floor until his knuckles became raw with scrapes. His shoulders shook, as the weight of guilt hung over him like a noose. "I failed you, pal."

The sobbing overtook him, weakening him to the point where he couldn't muster up any strength to carry on. The tears blurred his vision and condemned him until a storm of rage hastened within in his gut. Steve's words fell silent, feeling no warmth cloak around him. All he felt was sorrow and uncertainty whirling through the fabrics of his displaced soul. "We made a promise, Buck. That we would stick by other until the end of the line." he sniffled, and lowered his head, and pressed his forehead on the scuffed up floorboards with his eyes screwed shut-he just allowed everything to pour out of him.

There was no point of marching into battle with his shield. No one watching his back in the shadows; and no hope searing deep inside his fractured heart. He couldn't hide his anguish, guilt and a cluster of regrets.

When Steve opened his mouth, he let out his cries, too great for him to vocalize. He thought desperately to convince himself that it was a nightmare. He tried to shake off the unease settling over him by blurting out incoherent words rolling off his tongue, and resolved to continue his slurring mantra.

"Name: Steven Grant Rogers… Rank: Captain… Serial Number: 5498…5870."

"Captain Rogers," the soothing scent of fresh cherry mixed with vanilla lulled Steve to lift him head and try to cover his ashamed, redden, and solemn face: trying to the hide the lost, stinging tears and the hatred from failing his lifetime friend. His blood brother. He didn't want to welcome any comfort, and stare into the hope of Margaret 'Peggy' Carter's beautiful chocolate colored eyes. He always wanted to be strong for her-like his invincible to any task given to him. "Steve?" she asked. She drew closer, only to find him leaned against a dusty bookshelf, his eyes watering and bright with fever as he visibly shook. He was falling apart in pieces of a defeated soldier.

"I wanted to save him, Peggy..." he gasped, brushing his finger under his eye.

"I know, Steve," she replied, crouched down at her heel shoes, and reached out a dainty hand to caress his face. "You know Sergeant James Barnes, he will never going to leave you." she leveled her brown eyes with his glistening blue eyes. «You need to hold on to the hope that your friend carried on the battlefield. I know that Brooklyn soldier would knock some sense back into you...I feel the urge to do so at the moment." she lightly tensed. Her bright, full cherry-red lips curled into a small smile. "I expect you to be in tip-top Captain Rogers. The war is not over and your team still needs its captain." she affirmed softly.

Steve shook his head, his eyes hooded with grief and fear, and other dark things. "I can't do this, Peggy." He felt the anger roar in his veins, rapid and pulsating as his hand clenching into an iron fist. "I can't carry on this mission and bring good men into the jaws of death." he confessed, the tattered ends of his damaged heart broke into the abyss of his soul. "I can't watch another good man die. Not like Bucky." His toned wilted into cracking, despairing whisper that made her heart shutter. He looked down at the light blue uniform covering his massive frame, and absently stroked his fingers over the red and white stripes, before he pulled out a chain with plated metal dog tags from a side leather pouch. He held up to the dim light of an oil lamp. "These belonged to him. He gave them to me a few days after I liberated him from Zola's compound. It was almost like he knew he wasn't coming back..."

Peggy lowered her dark eyes, "Steve, you cannot allow James to become a ghost of your past. Allow him to live through you-and don't dwell on the regrets that you save in your heart. It only gives you more pain to carry." she said, staring into his deep, wounded, tortured gaze. "War always takes those we love away...but remember that this is not the end. You will see your friend again." She placed her pale hand over his large hand, and gently rubbed her fingers of his battered knuckles. Steve felt a ripple in his rib cage against the warm of her touch. "Don't be ashamed of allowing those tears to fall...Men never show their emotions, but you can because you are strong Steve Rogers. I only wish I had half the resilience as you do, Captain America."

Steve didn't answer for a long moment; he just stared at the dog tag, and he squeezed his hand. He finally received the hope he needed. The little push to give him the strength to finish the mission. He heaved out an abdominal, heavy breath and met her dazzling brown eyes. The words crawled from the back of his throat, and allowed his eyes to drift to find his resolve in the shadows and he locked his stern gaze on the helmet. His battle face. He whispered, "I will do it for Bucky. He always believed in the choices I made. It was my choice to stop HYDRA from damning this world in their image."

'Now, that's the spirit of America." Peggy smiled brightly, and wiped his tears away. "Tell what you need for this mission, Captain Rogers?"

He smirked, and leaned in closer to her. He brushed wet heat over his pale cheek, kissing her a chaste kiss. He pulled away, and strode to the table where he grabbed his alloy shield and slung it over his back. He turned, and looked tenderly into her dark eyes."Nothin'. This is a mission Phillips will probably disagree on. It's something that only a stupid kid from Brooklyn can pull off." he smiled, picked up his helmet and retreated to the shadows.

* * *

Steve blinked the haze of memory out of his eyes when he listened to the annoyance of slurping. He furrowed his brows into a tight crease, and stared at Bucky with a frown slacked over his lips unaware what to sat at the moment. After taking a long, hard look at his friend, and seeing what his failures and choices have done both in the unforgiving ice and the darkness of HYDRA, he felt a stabbing in his heart. Doubt crossed through his mind and felt his mouth set into a grim line. "Bucky," he choked up, his voice damaged. "I want you to know that reason why you became the Winter Soldier is because I let my pride and guilt draw me away. I should have went back for you."

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes, he placed his clenched hand against his jaw line. "Can we stop bringing up the past?" he gritted-he wasn't in the mood to listen to Steve's pity talk. He didn't want to feel a stab of recollection of his nightmares penetrated inside him again. He placed his half drained ice coffee down, and stiffened his lips, and heaved out a long, despondent breath. "I know you tried, Steve. You had mission to carry out. I was a soldier following in my old man's footsteps and you were something greater, pal." he reached out a hand, and gently tugged at Steve's shoulder. "You've always been something great...even before the war." he lowered his head and frowned.

"I thought you said I was a stupid kid," Steve reminded, with a lopsided smirk gracing over his sullen face.

"Stupid," Bucky sighed deeply, and looked into his friend's blue eyes coated with a layer of tears. He twitched the corners of his mouth, making a bright smile spread across his face. His pale blue eyes glistened. "Nah, you're not stupid, Steve...You only act stupid." he said, gripping his metal fingers tight against the leather of Steve's jacket. "Hell, we all act stupid at some point. We're Brooklyn boys...it's in our nature to do somethin' dumb."

"Yep," Steve laughed quietly, and felt the weight of guilt life off his shoulders. The old Bucky Barnes, the same kid that used to his shield against the dangers in the back alleys was slowly returning to him, day by day. "So what do you want to do next, Buck?" he offered, pulling out his mobile, and looked at the text message Tony Stark sent. "I have got some free time before I head back to the Avengers Tower."

Bucky eyes lit up, and pursed his lips into a devilish smirk. He pulled the chair away from the table, and looked down at Steve with that same mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. "Let's do somethin' stupid, punk." he implored.

Steve suddenly became to dumbfounded to argue back at his best friend. He just shrugged his broad shoulders, and paced after Bucky down the sidewalk.

It felt like old times again.


	7. Chapter 7

**{7}**

* * *

_One week later..._

Feverish beads of exhaustion glistened over the muscular planes of his graven chest, and sloped over the ridges of firm skin of his indented abdomen. His crystal turquoises eyes burned with scorching fire, Steve stood pliant in the center of the sparring ring, his soft lips glazed with moisture, and body entering full combustion. He systematically side-stepped on the balls of his bare feet against mated flooring as he held his best friends intense glare, and trying to shake off the numbness that searing through his bones. It was only a short while ago, he blocked a cross punch to the chest, a roundhouse kick and a fast cobra strike, but he managed to use his opponents weakness against him.

Using quick reaction with his enhanced reflexes, Steve stood uprooted in a fighting stance, and waited patiently. He took a deep breath to calm down his racing heart as he would each time he faced hand to hand combat during his SHIED missions, and swiped his drenched forehead with the back of his hand. He locked his eyes on Bucky, who was panting heavily, his dark tendrils of long, mahogany hair obscured his flushed face, and made him with the appearance of a menacing beast that evoked a sense of dread when Steve peered into the glacial azure eyes mirroring his gaze with retaining cold fury. "Ready for another round, Buck? Unless you want us to take a break?" he asked, watching Bucky scowl at him with feral icy eyes.

"Shut up!" A roar erupted from Bucky's throat, fierce and unyielding. He bared his teeth like a charging beast at him with forward speed, Steve vaulted into the air, grabbed his metal alloy plated arm, hooked his knee against Bucky's leg, and twisted the calf with a constricting squeeze of relentless pressure that effective made the other man lose his footing inflict and tumble forward. He'd caught the momentum and vertically rotated himself while performing a frontal aerial kick that made him tuck his knees close to his chest as he executed a full areal frontal flip and rammed his heels into Bucky's heavy set jaw, making him stumble backwards, and land hard on his back. His bare chest slacked with boiling sweat, jaw bruised with a smeared with a gnash of blood under his plump bottom lip.

Steve moved swiftly, and extended out his large hand. "Best two out of three?" he could the frustration welled in the icy blue eyes of his friend. Bucky glared dangerously at him, mentally calculating his evasive attack, something that would easily send the super-soldier crashing to the ground and that was relatively less painful. Gnashing his teeth, Bucky moved his leg counter-clock wise, to deliver a sweep kick under his opponent's weight, but Steve reacted quickly and side-stepped away from the foot threatening to ram into his right leg. He could raw power morphing into his friend's pale blue eyes, the same intimating glare of the Winter Soldier. He had to prevent Bucky shifting back into the mindset of the lethal Soviet assassin, and pull the trigger on their sparring match before one of them would end up brutality hospitalized. "Bucky?" he empathized in a passive tone, inching closer. "Let's go buy ourselves a pizza?" he offered.

Bucky sprang forward, and went to grapple his waist, but Steve grabbed his arm and sent him down again with a single pull. Getting angrier, he flipped himself into the air, landing on the arches of his feet, and lunged for the attack. His face vacant from expression, and his eyes molten blue embers.

"I won't lose." he seethed, balling his metal hand into a fist and allowing his subconscious to drift back into his Winter Soldier programming where he was trained to have no fear and give no mercy to his targets. "I can't lose a fight, I will make you taste defeat and I don't care what I do to you." His voice became a pitch darker, and his gaze livid with coldness. Wasting no time, he angled his arm, crooking his elbow high above Steve's shoulder, and gritted his teeth. "I will not fail." he growled, feeling his thoughts warred inside his foggy mind as he struck at Steve, listening to the metal hit firm skin, pounding and rippling pieces of flesh clean off the other man's jaw. He saw blood, and smelt the sickening stench of fever as it invaded his nostrils. He pulled Steve down, making him collide against the mat, and straddled on top of him, with his metal hand shadowing over a pair of tender blue eyes glistening with pained tears.

Horrified, Bucky grasped out a straggled cry, and back away from Steve. His eyes grew wide as he stared down at the red tinged scrapes on his friend's sturdy, chiseled jaw. He blinked the crimson haze out of his eyes, and gasped, blanching a few steps back. "I -I ...I didn't want to do this." his voice cracked.

Steve nodded, with a tolerant gaze; he felt his insides ripping into shreds as he looked into his friends pained filled eyes. "I know you didn't want to, Buck...It's going to be okay." he soothed with a gentle voice. He managed to stand uprooted, and place his hand on Bucky's tensed shoulder, feeling the muscles coil under his finger. "It was my fault, pal."

"No, Steve." Bucky breathed out a deep, sorrowful pant of air. His face scrunched in anger. He stared intently into Steve's pleading blue eyes, and made his heart-rendering decision. Biting his lower lip, he placed his metal hand over Steve's broad chest, feeling the thumping of his heart beat. "It's best that I leave before I hurt you again. I want to hurt you, Steve. You're my friend, but I know I can't control the urges." He said coldly, tears streaking out of the corners of glistening eyes. "I need to go away. Far away..."

"Bucky," Steve released out a pained filled breath, his own blue eyes coated with tears. "I can't lose you again." he choked.

Bucky drew out sharp, seething breaths and hung his head low, dark curtains of hair draped over his sullen face. Anger was brewing as he felt a storm beginning to swirl against the murky fabrics of his disheveled soul, and his heart felt like it shattered into a million jaded pieces slicing his insides open when he watched tears drop and splash on the red matting under his feet. "You've already lost me, Steve." He said, with a cluster of hurtful words, and felt the torrent, invasive programming of the Winter Soldier seize his humanity again. He was slipping back into the void, the abyss of inhumane control, and he felt numb as red carnage surged in his veins. Turning around, Bucky strode into the darkness, with his calculated and methodical steps; he kept his eyes locked to the ground.

"Bucky?" Steve called out with desperation.

Bucky twisted slightly around. His blue eyes were dead and empty. He was gone. The Winter Soldier consumed his soul. Steve couldn't see the light in his friend's eyes -just blacken malice of an inorganic killing machine. He stared darkly at Steve and said with an emotionless voice, that almost sounded robotic "Bucky is dead."

"No," Steve cried in anguish, it felt like a bullet entered his chest and exploded in his heart. "That's not you talking, Buck. It's not you."

"Yes...It is..." Bucky growled, his teeth barred and seething, a metal finger pointed at Steve. "If you follow me...I will kill you." he warned with a lethal gleam in his eyes, and he slipped into the shadows. He left Steve to fall on his knees and unleash his pain through heavy flows of tears drenching over his sharp and battered features. He never felt so weak...So defeated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Echoes of memory condemned him in the darkening void. He was lost in a stage of delirium. Flashes of faces marked in red penetrated deep within his mind. The sounds of heavy drops of rain became encroaching knells as shadows cloaked over his displaced form. Bucky sloshed through the clusters of puddles down the street, his boots thumped with every drumming beat of his shattered heart. He ran until every bone in his feet jostled in pain. He sprinted until he felt his lungs cease to function beyond the walls of his chest. He kept on pushing himself until every ounce of his body reeked with exhaustion.

_What horrors have I done?_

Smoldering tears streaked over his ashen cheeks as he raced unevenly, blurring the muted amber glow of street lamps mounted on the corners of traffic lights. He saw red. The unmistakable color of his past coated over his swimming vision as every color of the city became smeared like dripping paint off an unfinished canvas. His empty lungs filled with fluid that down his scorching throat, his heart threatened to shrivel up, and his thoughts mixed with grim shaded memories of horrors he endured when he was strapped down and beaten by his handlers until his mind collapsed to his obedient mode.

* * *

_Feverish chills penetrated deep into his veins—men in white coats strapped him down against a metal table; the bare muscle planes of his back tensed as he released sharp inhales and exhales. He fought against the deep and clouded recesses of his scourging mind—the images of bloody faces with sniper bullets lodged in their skulls._

_His body reacted viciously to the cold fingers splaying over his heaving chest—the needles digging into his skin and draining out a substance into his heated blood. His head, already started to throb and blood leaks from the corners of his mouth—running down his throat._

_His molten blue eyes open, growing hot with smoldering tears as wetness streaked over his strong cheek bones. The short and stocky man—a doctor, Zola hovered over him with a disappointing gleam in his aging eyes._

_"We're experiencing new changes of your development, Soldier." Zola spoke with a malicious Swiss accent, stroking his chubby fingers through his captive's rich dark locks. "You're going to become stronger and faster for Hydra… The perfect asset." He prepared another needle with discolored liquid and stuck into the Soldier's neck with a devilish sneer gracing over his lips. He removed the needle and looked into the glistening blue chasms of his pet. "Who is your command?" He reached a hand, running his stubby fingers along the Soldier's jugular._

_"Hydra," The Soldier answered warily, his voice strained. His blue eyes stared up blankly. "Hydra."_

_"Good," The doctor replied, dabbing ice cubes on the Soldier's chapped lips. "You've done well. The high father is pleased with your success of maintaining your alliance with our orders—Your victory has now given you rest."_

_The Soldier stared down at his metal hand, his dormant eyes wandered across the medical equipment, and then he parted his lips, feeling a numbness rake over his face—his system was shutting down. He sighed, and his eyelids started to droop, his breath, steadied in his lungs as the sedative rushed through his veins. His empty stomach rumbled, he craved for a taste of bread—a sip of cold milk. He sniffled. "Can I have something to… drink?" he asked in a slur of words._

_The man in the glasses stiffened his lips, cracking them into a wolfish grin,"You want a drink before you go to sleep?" he taunted the Soldier like a child, raising the younger man's hopes with spite laced in his low voice. "Then you will have it." _

_He snapped his fingers, a uniform operative stepped out of the shadows, holding a glass of prepared milk. Zola grabbed the glass and slowly tilted the Soldier's head back, pouring the cold liquid down his throat, nearly choking him as he listened to the man gag slightly. "There," he growled, backing away. "You've had your fill. Now rest, my asset." He caressed the Soldier's face with a gentle touch. "You will be needed again."_

_The Soldier slowly closed his eyelids, a shimmer of blue fog with darkness —his body slowly began to shut down for hibernation. His full lips froze into a neutral line as his long strands draped over his jaw. He fell into a state of hypnagogia as they induced more sedatives into his body until he entered the state of delirium and became frozen as stone on the medical table._

_"He is ready for the Cryo chamber," Zola executed to his assistants, walking away from the table. " Sgt. James Barnes will awake when everything is set into motion and when the future belongs to HYDRA_

_Coldness._

* * *

Each shaky breath that he managed to muster up was laced with anguish, Bucky sucked the air desperately, trying to drag his weakening body to a safe haven. His body unbalance, legs quivered and muscled seized up into tighter knots with each striding leap, blood stung in his veins like lactic acid, and bones rattled and scraped against his chest. His churning stomach became swollen as he tasted the horrible, puke tang of bile rising to his throat. He paused for a moment, gripping a cement pole with his metal hand, and clutched his stomach.

His body relented against the pain, he couldn't move, his system prevented him from taking another step.

Within seconds, he crashed to the ground, doubling over on his knees and fought his gag reflex to empty his stomach contents out while the downpour soaked through his disheveled brown strands of hair.

Bucky wanted to die. He wanted to become free of the morbid curse HYDRA placed over him seventy-years when he was that good kid from Brooklyn and not the lethal, programmed weapon of new world order. Releasing out his grief for all those lives he destroyed when he pulled the trigger and fired the untraceable slugs into his targets, he tucked his knees to his chest and cradled his bionic arm over his curled up legs as he tried to expel the emissions of metallic bile out of his system.

Nearly choking up vomit, his throat burned and eyes watered. His body thrashed and jerked wildly, his chest muscles twitched with erratic pants of breath as he heaved out pained sobs. He planted his hand into the murky puddles and unleashed his tears, trying to support his trembling body. He felt broken, condemned and confused.

"I'm sorry..." Bucky wailed, clenching his metal knuckles into a tight clutch as he unlocked his heart-rending confession to the swirling world around him. 'I'm sorry for what I've done." he cried out, his eyesight dimming with heavy flows of tears. "I never meant to hurt anyone...I was a good soldier...A decent kid. Not a damn monster!" he screamed against the layers of rain drenching over layers of his clothing.

He lifted his head, and stared directly at the golden halo of light captured in the drops of rain. His hand fumbled over his drenched shirt, as he yanked the dog tags off his neck, and gaze intently at the name engraved over the metal plates that revealed his true existence in the glimmers of light. "My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," he said with declaration in his raspy and strained voice, as he savored relief wash down his raw throat.

Collectilvey , Bucky eased his full weight off the ground and staggered to his feet. He glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure that no one had been following him. He squinted out the black pitch shrouding over his body, the world was spinning as he fought to resume his uprooted balance, his peripherals had blurred had become beclouded once more as he pushed his momentum to the alley way, gripped a hand over grimy brownstone and breathed in the muggy air while he recollected clusters of memory while he slowly melted into the sables of thick darkness.

"Bucky?"

Suddenly he froze at the soft and imposing voice drifting through the sheets of pelting rain. He involuntary twisted around and removed his swathed combat knife, holding it up as the blade caught the gleam of the meager light caressing over his black attire. He felt the blood pulsing his veins, as he took a step forward for his attack. His blue embers locked on the foggy shapes forming around him. He snarled in livid rage, wanting to tear his demons apart. He screamed to the darkness, shattering his soul.

Kill or be killed.

He moved out of the alley like a stalking wolf, baring his teeth. His shoulder length hair drenched and his eyes tenebrous glowered with flares of malice. He lifted his knife inches from his chest, straightening his arm and daring the tall figure to engage the assault. The darkness of the surrounding buildings obscured his face like his black mask, and lips curled into an icy scowl. His knife gripped firmly against clasped metal fingers and a thunderous growl of his vicious nature poured out of him. He became untamed with emotions and entered potent another delirium of his Winter Soldier programming. Keeping his blue eyes latched on his unarmed opponent, Bucky kept himself into an upward, defensive fighting stance.

"YOU'RE MINE!"

Quickly he studied his opponent, and then crouched down low and sprang violently at his target with full momentum. His knife wielded and twisted in his hand. He saw red. The distinctive red of his past clouding his vision as he unleashed his raw efficiency.

He besieged the massive figure, gnashing his teeth and slashing his knife, while holding it into a saber grip, his metal thumb was placed on the spine of the knife. He moved with swift, subtle, and effortless. He used true precision as he maintained the control of his programmed drills and struck with defensive and offensive while he identified and understood the tension of his opponent.

Bucky rammed his body hard, his arms enclosed over a hard stomach as he pushed the other man forcefully into the side of a parked vehicle. He struck using his right and left, twiddling the blade between his fingers and jabbed his elbow in the glass pane of the passengers' side window.

Pieces of glass shattered against his chest, he drew out a ragged growl, and slid the knife in between the space of his target's shoulder. The fight grew more wild, violent and unhinged. He stabbed the blade into a leather sleeve and listened to a faint yelp of pain enter his ears. Panting out gulps of air, a hand grappled his metal arm, twisted him as a leading arm passed over his neck and trapped his head into a pressure lock. Bucky scrambled to break free, digging his fingers into flesh as he slipped into a rampage of emotions.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

Bucky lashed, he blinked frantic, water dripping from his eyes as he clenched his teeth and forced out a sharp, cold breath. He grunted, a low and primal sound, and his whole body trembled as he jammed his metal plated elbow into the center of his attacker's chest. "Ge-Get off of me." he demanded as he squirmed. A hand clasped over his throat and hoisted him up, and he released an explosion of animalistic screeches.

"Buck, calm down." A familiar, desperate voice invaded his thought pools, Bucky froze in the instant when a large hand unlatched from his throat. "It's me...It's Steve."

"Steve?" Bucky breathed out heavy amounts of air, his voice crackling. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the golden haired super-soldier with deteriorating vibrant, pale blue eyes. His fingers uncurled over the handle of the knife as if dropped into a puddle of water underneath his boots.

He bared his teeth, as he heaved and sucked in labored breaths. He lurched a step back and stared with his intent eyes at the battered face of his friend. "Steve...Why did you come here?" he asked, choking out his uneven words. He scolded.

Steve eased his hand on assassin's alloy shoulder. His turquoise eyes were scintillating with forgiveness, and his expressions open and virtuous. "Friends never give up on each other, Buck."

"You're a stupid punk, you know that right?" Bucky vexed, shaking his head as spatters from his soaked mane landed on Steve's cheeks. "I could have killed you, Steve. I warned you not to follow me, you know I'm dangerous and a target for HYDRA, which means if you keep on tracking me down they will kill you too." He swallowed. "I can't afford to lose you-not when I made a promise."

"Likewise, Buck." Steve gave him a lopsided smirk of assurance, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Now, let's go back home. That's where you belong, not out here, soldier."

Bucky did not say anything. He just gave Steve a simple nod.


	9. Chapter 9

**{9}**

* * *

Through the distress ripping his soul, Bucky was twisting inhumanly and thrashing rapidly in the folds of drenched sheets, tangling his limbs chaotically and growling uncontrollably as he unraveled himself, rolling to the edge of the mattress, feeling the gravity pull him to the floor. His back teeth grinding dangerously, jaw clenching and his eyes screwed painfully shut as he convulsed in the lapping waves of torment, drowning further into the abyss as he struggled to breathe, skin hot and entering a degree of combustion as it felt like a knife penetrated in layers of sweaty flesh.

"You think that you can escape from us..."

Bucky violently jabbed his arms upwards, snarling out gibberish of Russian and coiled his metal hand instinctively around a throat, feeling a pulse beating as he squeezed against the windpipe, cracking the bones of the trachea. He heard a yelp enthralling in the darkness, and a bullet sounding off, as his metal was forced down against the mattress. He was restricted by a pair of hands, pinning him down as he fought, until a prick of sharp point stung into his neck.

"Bucky..."

He heard the frantic, strained voice of Steve Rogers echoing in the rifts of darkness as another crack of thunder sounded in the room.

* * *

"No..."

The shattering cries rippled through his vocal cords, Bucky snapped his eyes mechanically open, like plugged in burnt- out machine switched on for activation, drawing out sharp seething breaths. He blinked out the graphic and vivid images of his subconscious, conjuring haunted memories of torture, blood and raging inferno.

Squeezing his lids shut to seal off the burning wetness coating over his feverish azure irises, his metal hand fumbled over the covers, and clawed at firm skin of his thick pectorals. His body was slack with sickening sweat.

Unfamiliar emotions crept through his bones; he unclasped his right hand, disregarding the laden bunch of sheets to cascade off the bed frame.

_"Your rebirth is perfection beyond human expectation. You are the first of many to evolve into the ultimate weapon."_

Shaking, Bucky covered his face with both hands, digging his fingers into his sculpt, fighting the throbbing pulse of his brain battered against his skull. Memories of fragments of scattered faces turned into shards of ice once the bullet cut through slabs of lifeless bodies, snowy and barren landscapes and blood collected into clusters, drowning his mind with tantalizing flashes of conjoining nightmares of his tenebrous past. His mind was screaming like growing fire scorching within the cervices of his brain.

_*Slap*_

_A massive hand pounded violently against his battered cheek, rattling the jaw bone as his head jerked to the side and blood spewed out of his swollen mouth._

_"You failed your mission," Pierce said, in displeased parental voice; sharping the edge of his regal tone. His words scraped against Bucky's ears like daggers slicing through the skin; invasive and condemning. "You disobeyed a simple, direct order."_

_Bucky remained deathly silent._

_"I hate to do this to you," Pierce's tone grew a pitch softer. "...but if you want to survive another decade, you will obey."_

_A knife slashed over his right arm, opening the skin and allowed the tickles of blood to drip out and paint his shaking fingers with red._

_"It hurts..."_

He had been a lifeless husk, a victim of HYDRA's systematic tortures that marred every ounce of his humanity; erasing his existence with switch of a button, a prick of a needle and lashes of a whip. He bled and starved for his freedom from the shadow of his superiors. He felt the rage encase over his bones, molten and ice, and he tasted metallic spooling down the walls of his raw throat when he screamed out his pleas of mercy.

_...Steve._

Bucky stared down intently at his metal hand, frowning, and clenching his jaw, all torment exposed. Sitting indolently, he pressed the bare planes of his sore back against the dresser, rehashing air back into his scorched lungs, his eyes darkened into ire coals with smoldering blue fire devouring the squares of light out of his ominous glower under drapes of matted strands of hair.

The unsettling stench of blood wavering in the air made him carnal, teeth gnashed, and jaw flexed as he dared himself to shift his gaze at the tiny drops of blood seeping through the cracks of the floor. His blood.

Alarmed, he chanced a stare at his right arm, and stared at the red scrapes; maroon was seeping from the gashes and sliding over his fingers. "No," he heaved out a breath, folding his alloy fingers over the blemished skin, his words had grown spastic and damaged, "I didn't mean..."

He tried to calm himself down, but he caught in a trance of the spatters painted on the floor and the force of his metal arm pressed against the mattress made his chest ache. Discomfort made him release coattails of pants. He couldn't escape the delirium clogging his mind with disturbing imagery of ivory skin coated with blood, names written on vacant gravestone. It was a constant hurt, his bare chest was glazed with sweat, hardened with fear and straining to rise as he drew out heavy gulps of air. He felt remotely lost, cloaked into shadow and battered by his demons spearing molten hate within the barriers of his torn soul. He needed an anchor to guide him back into the light, away from the torturous nightmares that dragged across his heart. He needed Steve.

"Steve..." he faltered, remembering the name of his friend, he forced out a breath, and it was hoarse and audible. He swallowed against the constriction of nausea twisting against his tightening stomach and he reserved an expression of dismay. His sharp exhale was accompanied by the sound of the metal plates swiveling as he clenched his hand into a rigid fist. Blurry blotches of red clouded the razor edge of his peripheral vision as he acutely scanned the bedroom, "Steve! Where are you?" he hollered out in shrills.

Panic started to fold over his bones, he eased himself off the ground, regaining his full height, and moved to the doorway in sluggish footing. His metal shoulder nudged against the wood frame, and he whispered in a hushed voice. "Steve?"

Bucky didn't wait for a response, he slowly moved down the hallway, a baleful expression flickered across his face, as he removed his combat knife from a pocket of his pants, curling his metal fingers over the handle, and took a momentarily glance, acutely observing his surroundings, and became aware of intimate danger around him. Begrudgingly accurate by the ominous sense crawling over him, he maneuvered closer to the living room, in ghost-like and methodical strides; his blue eyes carried a vicious gleam as his sculpted frame mixed with the ambiance of shadow veiling over his menacing face.

He felt his heart reach a standstill as the wafting smell of stale blood entered his nostrils, fighting his gag relax, he glared at the trail of maroon underneath his feet, his fierce and determined blue eyes scanned the floor. He was on the verge of unleashing the Winter Soldier, he advanced closer, climbing over the obstruction of smashed furniture, and he froze, dead in thought as a distinctive smell landed against his nose. Covering his mouth with his bruised hand, Bucky wasted no time, and moved to his destination. He sealed his lips shut, focusing on his breathing as he searched frantically over Steve under the haze of odorless gas.

His feral, darkened blue eyes scanned the area as strands of matted, disheveled brown hair fell over his gleaming forehead.

He advanced closer to a pile of steel beams, with each calculated step he stalked followed a trail of blood drops, and he felt his strained muscles coil with tension; his nose crinkled against the poisonous that permeated through the air. There were lots of puddles of blood on the floor.

"No," he growled out, his traitorous heart thudded to a halt against his rib cage.

Breathing frantically, he staggered through the pile of debris and narrowed his blue eyes down at the gleaming alloy shield of Captain America tucked underneath a board.

With one fluid motion and every ounce of his blood pumping, he crashed to his knees, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest, the rush of dread and doubt weaving the fabrics of his soul, the way his heart pounded with a dull, familiar ache, forcing the adrenaline to cease in his veins.

He was despondent, numb and uncertain. His body was still recovering from the tortures he faced and the abuse of his captivity with the most inhumane and deranged scum of humanity. He was finally free from the programming; the mind swiping, shock collars, starvation and ice baths-he recovered his existence, discovered his true name, and found his redemption in the eyes of a face he remembered from a stolen life.

Bucky lifted up pieces of wood and metal, tossing them aside and narrowed his glistening blue eyes on the unconscious body of Steve Rogers, underneath, shifting and severely wounded.

A thin layer of blood covered the navy blue of his shirt, blood dripping from the crown of his head and tendrils of ruffled and drenched golden hair had fallen over his eyelids. His youthful and chiseled face littered with bruises and smears of maroon stained his high cheekbones and jaw line. His lips had a breath tinge; his chest was rising and falling. It was the only reassuring sign that he was alive. The bullets encased in the graven muscle of his abdomen gave a grim disbelief that Steve wouldn't survive without proper medical assistance.

"No," he snarled, blood simmering his veins. Biting hard on his bottom lip, Bucky eased his metal hand on Steve's starkly ashen, clammy and benumbing face. "Steve..." He growled with a loud and powerful voice, clenching his jaw tight, he used his other hand and checked Steve's pulse. It was growing faint. "I'm going to save you."

He wrapped his arm around the broad span of Steve's shoulders, easing the body of the limp captain gently up, gritting and cursing under his breath, he heaved Steve up, and did a fireman carry to the balcony. He kicked the door down of the fire escape opened and quickly vaulted down, using his metal arm to grip the walls, the scraping of his hand created sparks as he slid down to ground level; blood was starting to pour out of Steve's mouth.

"Hang on," he breathed out with a gentle imploring tone. "Just hang on. I've got you, pal." he gritted.

"Bucky..." Steve's chilled lips parted, he whispered in a strained voice. His eyelids fluttered. He coughed and bloody water trickled from his mouth and rolled down his throat.

He was growing paler by the minute, his jaw rubbed over the blemished skin of friend's shoulder. His eyes closed shut and he drifted while Bucky smacked the bare soles of his feet hard on the pavement.

Bucky winced against the impact, bones jostled as he managed to carry Steve to a safe corner, gasping over air, as he emptied the airborne toxin out of his lungs. They had been under attacked.

"Steve," he whispered, looking down at his friend's laden form, he was starting to lower the super-soldier down when a massive explosion thundered in his ear drums. He absurdly whipped his head to the direction of the shattering noise, and shielded his blue eyes while he stared intently at the firebomb rising in the distance. He blinked the wetness out of his eyes, and looked at the shape of a skull with squiggly lines in the plume of smoke hovering over the city.

Securing his best friend against his shoulders, Bucky coughed out blood, feeling the sturdy muscles of his calves suddenly fail to support both of their weight, he unceremoniously crashed to the ground, weakly reacting to the unraveling images spindling in his disconnected mind. His eyes grew heavy, as he realized the gas he inhaled was an incapacitating agent that had been somehow administered into the apartment.

HYDRA.


End file.
